Pause!
by Mana7
Summary: Chapter Six: Abby's encounters with dreams, the eighties, and, of course, her conscience.
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Pause!

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Only in my dreams

**Spoilers:** All of season 10.

**Summary:** A post-ep of sorts to 10-22. County General lives on. Eventually Carby.

**Author's Note:** Inspired by my delusional daydreaming, this is the story of how I'd like to see our favorite characters in a few months. Highly unlikely, especially now that I've written it down. I see this turning into a few chapters, hope you enjoy.

**Chapter One**

Tuesday morning he awoke in the same old bed to the same old alarm clock blaring the same sounds of the talk show he'd heard on hundreds of other mornings. Old beige sheets rustled off him and his elbow made a fierce dent in a worn pillow as he propped himself upright. Searching blindly for the light switch, his arm waved stupidly in the dark. Why wasn't the switch someplace logical, like beside the bed? In his old house…At once the unfamiliar room was illuminated, and he blinked his eyes, stumbling out of bed.

In the shower he yelped at scalding water, then yelped twice more as he froze. Leaping in and out of the stream of water, testing the temperature as he adjusted the controller, he performed a sort of dance. Like the hippos in _Fantasia_, he thought, chuckling.

Breakfast took even longer. He had to dig through seven drawers to locate every piece of the coffee maker, and it took four cupboard searches to find a bowl and spoon. Even the milk was hidden, or lost, and so he poured orange juice on his cereal instead. Considering he had no newspaper to distract him and the constant itching from the soap residue the shower had been unable to rinse, it was the longest breakfast of his life.

At last he was struggling to pry his key from the deadbolt. Not refreshed, but proud of his tolerance, he scraped ice from his windshield and drove to work.

* * *

"Not bad, Carter," Susan greeted him. "Only an hour late on your first day post-moving."

He opened his familiar (thank goodness) locker and smiled. "You mean this happens every time someone moves?"

"I could have advised you to leave extra time for getting ready," Susan grinned, taking a sip of coffee. "But it's so funny to see you this—"

Abby burst into the lounge, her own coffee in hand. "Disheveled!" she finished, and both women looked at him and laughed.

"At least _I_ managed to make coffee at home," he managed, but the comment fell, ignored.

"It's not like you've never moved before," Abby pointed out.

He smiled and closed his locker. "I had a housekeeper before." donning his stethoscope, he exited the lounge.

At the Admit desk, Luka handed him a stack of eight, no, nine charts.

"Rough night?" Carter asked.

"No, it was fairly calm," Luka answered, not looking up from the papers through which he rummaged. "Too calm. You're in for a busy day, I'd guess."

As the other doctor prepared to leave, Carter read through the charts. Sutures, muscle pain, a fever—this wasn't his definition of a tough shift. A relieved sigh had half-escaped his lips when Randi glanced at him from where she stood talking on the phone.

"Two majors from an MVA are on their way, ETA six minutes," she told him.

She spoke into the receiver, "Pardon, what was that?" then to Carter again. "Seven minors too. Sounds like a big accident."

* * *

Hours later, the thrill of major traumas had ebbed to exhaustion. In a dramatic motion, he threw his exam gloves to the cluttered floor. Abby, the only other person in the finally empty room, looked up from the chart on which she'd been writing.

She laughed, "What? They all survived."

He sighed, then laughed at his melodrama too. "By some miracle."

"Called 'Modern Medicine'? Come on, they weren't hurt _that_ badly."

Smiling as they swung open the doors of the trauma room to leave, he smirked, "Says the one who wanted to go pull out the defibrillator."

"Just in case, ," she called, ducking into her next patient's exam room.

"Yeah, Doctor Safe-Side. Just in case."

Still chuckling, he entered Curtain Area Three, a brand new chart tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Hi, Jason," he said, glancing at the chart. "I'm Doctor Carter." The boy shook his outstretched hand and winced. Carter made a mental note of it.

"It says here you're experiencing stomach pain?"

"_Severe_ stomach pain," the boy responded. "It's appendicitis, I know it is."

Carter gave a tight smile. "I'm just going to take a look."

"I'm positive. I did that thumb and pinky thing where you press on your belly. I was in _agony_."

"You might be right," he told Jason, and preceded to order several tests. "I'll be by later to let you know."

* * *

Later turned out to be very much later. His shift was almost over by the time he returned to Curtain Area Three to find Jason asleep against his mother's shoulder.

"How is he?" Carter asked the mother.

"In pain," she coughed in an angry whisper. "Luckily he's slept through a lot of it. What took so long?"

Carter shrugged apologetically. "This is a very busy hospital, ma'am. Sorry to have kept you waiting." He was sorry. Mostly because he's spent a tiring shift attending to stupidity-induced injuries and was relieved to tend to innocent ailments like Jason's.

"He was right, it is appendicitis. I've called a surgeon to come evaluate him for an appendectomy."

The mother groaned, dreading another wait, and Carter left regretting his dispassionate approach to this patient. These seemed like nice people.

Upon entering the lounge, he found Abby and Pratt, Coke cans in had, laughing about…what?

"Why can't we be friends with all of them?" Carter grumbled, twisting his combination lock. Pratt and Abby snorted.

"Friends with who?"

"The patients," he answered, exasperated. He hadn't intended his corny rant to be audible. "They seem like nice people."

"Some of them."

"What would you want with ten thousand friends?" Pratt joked. "Seems like too much work to me."

Carter's locker popped open. "Being a doctor should be hard."

"Not that hard," Pratt's pager beeped and he checked it. "Man, I gotta go make some friends," he laughed, and slammed the lounge door behind him as he left.

When he was gone, Abby snickered too, and even Carter joined in. As he rummaged about for his scarf, Abby opened her own locker and took out an envelope.

"Here," she thrust it at him uncomfortably.

"What's this?" he asked, opening it.

"Tuition money."

He paused, envelope half-open. "I told you not to repay me."

"I have to," she said, closing her locker. He looked at the check in his hands and almost told her she should remember to get the "Ms." changed to "Dr." Thankfully, her back was to him; he shouldn't be inspecting her check so closely.

"Abby," he called, breaking the uneasy silence just as her hand was pushing the door open. "Are you busy on Friday?"

She stopped and turned back toward him. "Whoring yourself out, are you?"

He gave her a questioning look.

"The money," she pointed, clarifying. He nodded and smiled in comprehension.

"I'm not sure my 'skills' are worth a thousand dollars."

"No."

"What?" The smile faded from his face.

"No, I'm not busy on Friday. And your 'skills' are priceless."

His grin reappeared, accompanied by an awkward tilt of his jaw, as if he were the slightest bit uncomfortable. "Would you like to have dinner, then?"

"Sure. Should I dress up?" she asked, and he swore he heard a tinge of excitement.

"Do you want it to be fancy or casual?"

"Fancy would be nice," she said after a moment, softly and with a little smile.

"Great, I'll pick you up at seven." He tried not to sound too excited himself, but he couldn't help it.

Still smiling a tiny smile, she waved one stiff hand in an awkward goodbye. Silently, she slipped out the door, and as she left, he called, "Thanks for the check!"

Realizing the whole ER had heard him, he left too, embarrassed, but not overwhelmingly so. That night, he exited the day much more at ease than when he'd welcomed it.


	2. Chapter Two

**Title:** Pause!

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Only in my dreams

**Spoilers**: All of season 10.

**Summary:** A "first" date, Carby-style

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all of the lovely reviews! I hope you like this chapter too.

**Chapter Two**

"Funny kind of day," Mrs. Monagan called as Abby approached, nodding. "Wake up to thunder and now we'll spend the afternoon beneath blue skies."

"Hopefully," Abby joked. She almost brushed past the woman who sat on the steps, but decided she had nothing better to do than converse with her neighbor. After all, seven 'o'clock was hours away.

"That's Chicago for you." The woman patted the step next to her and Abby sat down. A few moments of silence passed before Mrs. Monagan spoke again.

"I'd spend all my time on these steps if I could."

Abby nodded, concentrating on a man marching down the opposite side of the street. You could always tell someone was crazy if he walked as if stepping over hurdles.

"Enjoying the weather, watching the cars," Mrs. Monagan continued, looking at the same man Abby had. "Watching the people."

The women shared a glance and laughed.

"Especially the people," Abby said.

After several more minutes of amicable observation, Mrs. Monagan turned to Abby.

"Maury and I are having a barbeque this evening, if you'd like to join us."

"Actually, I'm busy this evening," Abby told her apologetically.

"Oh! I forget how doctors have such odd hours. And seeing as how you're home so early, you must be—"

"I'm having dinner with someone."

Mrs. Monagan's eyes brightened. "Like a date?" Abby smiled. "Well, good for you. Anyone I'd know?"

Recalling the way Carter had brought the Monagans their newspaper in the mornings when he returned from a nightshift, Abby smiled again, wider.

"Well run upstairs and get ready!" Mrs. Monagan exclaimed. Abby stood and gathered her coat and purse. She turned to leave, feeling strange about the open display of excitement she'd just revealed.

"I hope the barbeque goes well."

"Good luck!" Mrs. Monagan called after her, and Abby unlatched the door chuckling.

* * *

Inside her apartment, Abby was not sure what she should be doing. Pacing blankly, she wandered about the entryway ruffling through magazines and glancing at her empty message machine. Bored, she decided she may as well do something useful, so she pulled up her sleeves to scrub a small stack of dirty dishes.

Too soon, the kitchen was spotless and, with a smack, her foot knocked the dishwasher shut. She fluffed the couch's pillows, and dusted the coffee table with the edge of her hand. Moving to the bedroom, she changed the sheets and was struggling to retrieve the vacuum from her too-small closet when she realized how sick of cleaning she had become. What she really wanted to do was eat, but, no, she decided. She should save room for dinner.

After restlessly flipping through various television and radio stations and munching her way through a handful of peanuts, Abby finally allowed herself to begin her preparations for the evening.

In the shower, she scrubbed and shaved and shampooed in record time, and then she repeated the whole process to slow herself down. She thought of her college years when she'd get ready for dates pretending to be in a movie, making sure she had a strategically placed towel around her at all times. Now, she couldn't find a towel, and as she dripped into the linen closet searching, she thought she was old enough to be in a more mature movie anyway. Towels were for young hot babes; meatier roles required nudity.

Luckily, after forty-five minutes of several shirt, skirt and shoe combinations, hair-dos and makeup trials, Abby's excitement overrode her exhaustion. Perching on a kitchen chair partially engrossed in a magazine, she waited. Finally, a knock reverberated about the apartment, and she rose, surprised to see one hand trembling.

She opened the door to a fistful of flowers, and behind them, the man she'd awaited.

"Hi."

Blushing a bit, she took the flowers. She wanted to remark on the tastefully small size of the bouquet, but she feared he'd take it as an insult.

"I'll just get a vase for these, come on in." Even Abby was surprised at the normal tone of her voice. In a moment, she halted his loitering about the entryway and joined him.

"Thanks for the flowers."

He put a hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the apartment. "Ready?"

She nodded, "You look nice," and hoped the words didn't come out sounding shocked.

He laughed, "I don't always?" then added a moment later, "You're stunning."

She tugged at her skirt, straightening.

"Glad you noticed."

* * *

In the car they talked too much and too fast, too eager to keep awkward silences at bay.

"There was a boy on the El today who was deaf. He was signing to his mom. And she was yelling at him, as if he could hear!"

"Maybe she needed to let her anger out?"

"Maybe she forgot he couldn't hear her."

Another time she said, "I've been meaning to tell you. On Oprah today—" and then she bit her tongue, mortified. Carter had laughed, and later, as they walked down the sidewalk towards the restaurant, he sunk to her level.

"You know what was a great movie?"

"_Pulp Fiction_?"

"That too. I was going to say _New York Minute_."

"Which one was that?"

"You know, with Mary-Kate and Ashley."

She almost crumpled into a laughing heap right there, but he held open the door to the restaurant and, guffawing, she walked inside.

When they were seated, he struggled out of his coat.

"I hope you like Indian."

"Are you kidding?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "All those times you forced _paneer_ down my throat. How could I forget?"

She shifted in her chair, pleased he'd remembered.

* * *

The awkwardness had begun to disperse by the middle of the meal, and by the time the dessert menu arrived, both were more or less at ease.

"I don't think Susan meant you'd be the permanent babysitter," Abby laughed, reading through the list of various sweet dishes.

"She looked me head-on and said, 'We'll only need you till he's eleven or so.'"

She glanced up into his grin. "Tell her no way." He chuckled. "Besides, you're no fabulous, irreplaceable babysitter, are you?"

"One of a kind, thank you very much," he said, "But I think I will tell her no thanks."

The waiter returned, looking expectant, and both ordered so as not to disappoint him.

"Carter," she said later, stabbing her fork into the delicacy before her, "Don't you think we should talk about—"

"Check, please," he called to a passing waiter, putting up a hand to pause Abby. The hand dropped to the table and he asked, "What were you saying?"

"Nothing," she looked down at the last few crumbs on her plate and, too tempted, picked one up with a finger. He chuckled.

"I saw that."

"Wouldn't want anything to go to waste, right?"

The waiter came back and Carter completed his transaction.

"You ready?" he asked, rising, and helping her do the same.

"Yeah, thanks," she stood. "And thanks for dinner."

"My pleasure."

* * *

Tired, they drifted into a pleasant silence for the car ride back to her apartment. Abby mentally re-lived the evening, and, by the little smile Carter wore, she thought he did the same. At least, she hoped he was thinking about tonight, and not some twisted Olsen twin fantasy.

More quickly than either realized, Carter had pulled up to her building. She thought to invite him in, but decided against it. As she stepped out of the Jeep, suddenly uncomfortable, his hand brushed her arm. Continuing to slide out of the car, she did not acknowledge her reaction, hoping he hadn't noticed her shiver. Entranced, both jumped when Abby shut the car door. Leaning to the open window, she said, "That went well."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, "Yeah it did."

Turning, she walked up the steps, and he watched her go through the main door before driving away.

Inside, Mrs. Monagan's head poked out of her apartment.

"Abby! How was it?"

Abby beamed. "Goodnight Mrs. Monagan."


	3. Chapter Three

**Title:** Pause!

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Only in my (wildest) dreams

**Spoilers**: All of season 10.

**Summary:** Breakfast, movies and Cyndi Lauper, oh my!

**Author's Note: **I appreciate all the feedback I've been getting. I hope to keep the story up to your standards.

**Chapter Three**

"That's all they really waaaaaaant," he hummed, walking through the hospital parking garage.

"Some fun," he unlocked the door of his Jeep.

"When the working day is done!"

Safely inside the soundproof car, he bellowed the anthem.

"Girls, they wanna have fun, oh girls just want to have—"

Sam and Luka strolled past, laughing on their way to Luka's car.

"We can still hear you, Carter," Sam called. He grinned at her. The song wasn't entirely appropriate: his most recent patients had been a trio of drunk college girls, superglued together, apparently on a dare.

"_Fun_!" He tipped his head back shouting and started the car. In a surprisingly good mood, he hummed all the way to the Swissotel Hotel.

In the lobby, he met his father good-natured, and almost hugged him on an impulse. Just in time, he remembered to settle down and he shook his father's hand instead.

"Breakfast?" the elder Carter asked, by way of greeting.

Seated in the hotel's upscale café, both Carters inhaled the bacon-y aroma.

"This is a great place," Jack motioned to the restaurant.

His son nodded, studying the menu.

"My mother and I ate here often."

Both turned their attention to the waiter and ordered.

"You came here with her didn't you? I seem to recall a breakfast ritual you and your grandmother had?"

"At the mansion."

"That's right. She had an excellent chef."

"Jeffery."

"Jeffery. Whatever happened to him?"

Carter thought over his response carefully to avoid stepping into a trap.

"He works for the Amslers now."

"You didn't keep him after you sold the mansion?" Mentally, Carter groaned, trapped despite his efforts. Months later, his father still resented him for the sale of the family house.

"What for?" he asked, resigned, but was rescued from hearing his father's response by the arrival of the food.

Just before bidding his son goodbye, Jack asked after Kem.

"I haven't heard from her in a few weeks."

"No?" his father feigned sympathy.

"I sent her share of the money from our house when I sold it."

"Good," Jack said, "Now you can go back to normal."

Ignoring the latter remark, Carter said goodbye, wishing his father good luck at the meeting for which he was in town, and left the hotel. On the street he took a deep breath, relieved, and waited for the valet to return with his Jeep.

* * *

His happy mood returned as he navigated through rush hour traffic on his way home. Gradually, his thoughts shifted from his irritation towards his father to the better parts of his day, at the hospital. With a smile, he recalled one of Abby's patients whose chart he'd meant to sign. The woman, stricken with a bout of pneumonia, had balked when he entered her room.

"Get him out of here!" she had shrieked. "Scram!"

Containing his laughter, he exited, motioning to Abby he'd listen from outside the room to assess the case. Once he was gone, he heard the woman speak again.

"Man, that guy was a crackpot! I could just tell from looking at him."

"Mrs. Henderson," Abby tried to assure her, "Doctor Carter is—"

"A sleazebag!" Mrs. Henderson declared.

After the exam, he asked Abby, "Psych consult?"

"Nah," she smirked, "she's just got a case of woman's intuition."

A few hours later, Abby had come up behind him as he signed charts at the Admit desk. She'd tossed a prescription pad at his head and—

Driving past a movie theater, he had a sudden urge to call her. He resisted for a moment, predicting the awkward conversation that was sure to be the outcome of a phone call.

"Why'd you call?" she'd ask.

"Just stuck in traffic thinking about you," would be his inevitable embarrassing answer.

"Oh," she'd say. "Well if that's all I gotta go."

Turning up the radio, he laughed at himself. How pathetic it was to imagine conversations.

Two songs and one block later, though, he was still tempted to call her. More nervous than he should have been, he relented.

"Hey," she answered. "How was breakfast?"

"Bearable."

"He pestered you?"

"That's just how he communicates."

He heard a little laugh from the other end.

"When did you get off work?" he asked.

"Still on."

"And you're talking to me?"

She smiled again, he thought.

"Don't worry, boss, I'm on a break."

"Oh," he said, suddenly out of things to say. He switched the phone to the other ear.

"Listen, have you heard about that new _Precinct_ movie?" He was anxious, for they had not yet discussed dating since their dinner three days ago.

"_Assault on Precinct 13_? I wanted to see that."

He caught a nervous tone in her voice too, and was reassured.

"Tomorrow?"

"I'm working."

"Me too. After, I meant."

"Okay," she agreed, "that'd be good."

"Yeah." A car honked behind him. "See you later."

Traffic easing, he drove the rest of the way home in a mood that was fully re-inflated.

* * *

The next day, his half-shift seemed longer than the full shift he'd worked the day before. He told himself it was due to a more difficult patient load, but he knew it was his anticipation for the evening that stretched the day longer. Just before the shift was to end, he got tangled in another trauma, and it wasn't until ten 'o'clock that he was finally able to meet Abby in the lounge.

"There's a later showing at the Webster," he told her, "but my car's in the shop so we'll have to take the El."

"Manly," she patted his shoulder. "I'm going to go wash up."

Minutes later she returned with fresh makeup and combed hair.

"Much better."

"Before was good too," he said with a smile, and together they ducked out of the hospital.

The bitter-cold air was a relief at first, but waiting for the El they both shivered.

"I like the El," he said stupidly, feeling the need for more impressive conversation since the date had begun.

"Reminds you of poor people?" She shifted the tone back to friendly; he laughed, relieved.

"No, it reminds me of people in general."

* * *

As the pre-movie ads flickered across the screen, they sat tapping their feet to the pop music meant to entertain them.

"Hey!" he exclaimed when strains of Cyndi Lauper absorbed the theater, "I was just singing this song!"

"Don't tell me," she snorted.

He began to sing along, until, after a few bars, she kicked his shin. Fortunately, his cry was drowned out by the booming start of the previews. Carter, not a fan of suspenseful crime dramas, braced himself, preparing for the next two hours. Several times he had to remind himself that Abby was an avid Ethan Hawke fan.

By the time the action sequences were in full heart-pounding gear, Carter was tense as a rubber band ball. At a particularly sudden gunshot, he jumped, and his hand flew into Abby's palm that lay on the armrest beside him. Immediately taken aback by the forwardness of his impulse, he watched her intently to gauge her response.

"Chicken," she laughed, but did not release his hand. Reassured, he reclined back into his seat. Minutes later, he swore she squeezed tighter, afraid herself.

He smiled at her, not wanting to damage her tough image.

"What? I was comforting you."

When the first credits flashed onto the screen, their clasped hands and now-interlocking fingers drew more of his attention. They stayed attached and seated until the final credits rolled.

"I want to see where it was filmed," he said, but even Abby knew he just wanted to stay relaxed like this for as long as possible.

At last, the theater lights were on bright and the teenage janitor was blocking the screen. Abby pulled Carter to his feet.

"So how'd you like it?"

He groaned.

"Not even a little?"

"Better question is how'd _you_ like it?"

"Four stars, definitely."

* * *

On the El platform they froze—the tin roof of the shelter did little to shield the icy wind. To knock particles of ice from the tips of his hair, he shook his head. She made a move to stop him.

"Why'd you do that? You looked—"

"Like a frontiersman caught in a blizzard?"

She couldn't help laughing. "But not an _ugly_ frontiersman."

Both noticed a man who really did look like a frontiersman—icy bearded and wrapped in a giant parka—ascend the stairs a few feet away.

"Anyway," Carter began, shifting the topic, but he paused, distracted by her hand that brushed the remaining sleet from his hair.

"I thought it was cute?" he laughed.

"But then you left the job half done," she mumbled, preoccupied by her swiping.

Soon, the swiping ceased, and he became aware of a hand delicately resting on his cheek. Suddenly serious, he felt himself drawn closer to her, admiring her eyebrows, the wisps of hair that had escaped her hat, her cheekbones.

"Abby," he whispered when he was completely absorbed by her presence, their mouths close enough to touch if their lips puckered.

"Shouldn't we discuss—"

She sat upright. "Not now, Carter, I'm tired."

On the El, they did not speak and, tired as she had claimed, she fell asleep against him. It was past midnight and she'd worked a full shift to his half. Carter remained awake throughout the ride, a knot growing in his throat as he watched her sleep.

"Abby," he disentangled the arm he'd wrapped around her.

"Yeah?" Her eyes remained closed.

"Here's your stop."

She sat upright. "Isn't your stop before mine?"

He didn't answer.

Gathering her belongings and rising, she bid him goodnight.

"Thanks, John."

"Thank _you_."

Smiling as she stepped off the train, she called, "See you tomorrow!"

Just as the doors shut, he said "Good—" but the rumbling of the El blocked out "—night."

At the next stop he got out and boarded the train traveling in the opposite direction, finally on his way home.


	4. Chapter Four

**Title:** Pause!

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Only in my (favorite) dreams

**Spoilers**: All of season 10.

**Summary:** Abby's grilling, grimy, greasy, grueling day, just add Carter.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for such a delay between chapters. Life, you know? Thanks for your kind encouragement. I'm meaning to make the story show-paced (i.e. excruciatingly slow), but at last, you're getting a bit of action. Hope this makes up for the break in posting!

**Chapter Four**

Steps read, confessions made, and Lord's prayer said, dozens of recovering alcoholics streamed from the church where their meeting had been held.

"This stuff's crap."

Abby glanced at the women with whom she trudged.

"Andie, crap is the definition of Folger's."

"So remind me why we drink it?"

Abby shrugged. "Addiction?"

Punctuated by drops of black liquid freezing onto the grey snow, Andie's guffaw rattled all of her chins.

"Shall we get some real coffee then?" she asked, once the entire contents of her cup were melting a dark puddle in the gutter.

Before Abby answered, a man she recognized from the meeting brushed past, talking to the spilt beverage.

"Shouldn't have wasted you, huh? Poor thing, perfectly good and frozen on the ground."

Both women pretended not to stare as he walked down the block, back into the church for the next meeting.

"So, uh, coffee?" Abby asked when he had disappeared into the building.

"Funny that we're getting more coffee after that...interruption," Andie laughed. "Starbuck's is just around the corner."

"Life goes on, even after spilt coffee."

"Confucius?"

"Yeah," Abby grinned.

* * *

Surrounded by eggplant-colored cushions on the overstuffed coffeehouse couch, both women sipped their lattes.

"So?" Abby asked. "What is it?"

Andie had looked about to burst since the meeting began.

"You noticed!" Andie seemed too excited. "I have the happy glow, I guess." Abby studied the woman beside her. She didn't even have a faint shine.

"I have been dying to tell you," Andie bubbled. "Actually, I've been dying to tell this to a lot of people. Like Sue and Jean and Lisa and Matt, thought I don't know how well he'd take it, and my mother, believe it or not, and Carla and—"

"Andie." Abby took a patient sip of coffee.

"I got one, at last!" Andie blurted. "And he's perfect. Until I discover his quirks, at least."

"Yeah? What's he like?" Abby prompted without enthusiasm. "At last" meant since last month. Andie was a "love 'em and leave 'em quick" kind of person.

"So, Abby." As the women left the shop, coffee quotas satisfied, the conversation shifted from Andie's Ken.

Andie looked at her, eyebrow raised. "Do you have one yet?"

Unsure of the technically correct answer, Abby laughed.

"One what? New house? New job? Perfect life?"

Examining Abby, head tilted, Andie smiled.

"So I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

"Quick, name every human artery in reverse alphabetical order! And by the way, can you list one hundred major Chicago streets, east to west?"

Standing with her back to Abby at the Admit desk, Susan laughed.

"You just had rounds?" She turned to face Abby.

"I'm more rounded than you'll ever know."

Slyly, Susan plopped a chart onto Abby's lap.

"Want to assist me with a hernia in three?"

"Do it _for_ you? I'd love to." Abby took the chart to the exam room, dreading the patient though she knew not why. When she entered the room, she discovered her psychic ability had tipped her off rightly. The patient was, simply put, greasy.

Sharing a grimace with the nurse, Abby said sweetly, "Mr. Harvey? I'm Doctor Lockhart."

Gingerly, she examined the lump in his rolling belly. He gasped.

"Did that hurt—" Abby leapt backward, not in time to avoid spewing vomit.

Leaving the room moments later, she felt very sorry for the nurse who would have to wash the puke from Mr. Harvey's ponytail.

In the hall, she passed Susan, who grinned at the putrid chunks soaking Abby's lab coat.

"The hernia was strangulated," Abby said through gritted teeth.

Cheerily, Susan called after her.

"Then get a surgical consult!"

* * *

At six twenty-eight, on cue as her shift ended, Abby's cell phone rang.

"Hey!" He was far too upbeat for the end of the workday. Of course, he had not worked at all today.

Triumphantly, Abby walked through the hospital's sliding glass doors.

"Thank God it's Saturday."

"That bad, huh?" Carter laughed.

"It was grilling, grimy, greasy and _grueling_." She juggled her phone with her shoulder, riding up the escalator to the El.

"Poetic."

Abby smiled, though it was blocked from public view by her slipping phone.

"So, Doctor Lockhart, how does it feel to be liberated?"

"Uh," she thought for a moment. "Starving?"

"Dinner?"

Stooping to sit on the bench on the waiting platform, she groaned.

"What?" Abby could detect his disappointment.

"I just don't feel like going out."

"Come on, we'll go someplace casual."

The idea was anything but appealing.

"That's still going out."

Carter was silent for a long moment. Finally he responded, resigned.

"Okay, some other time."

"Yeah."

Stepping onto the train, she bid him goodnight and flipped the phone shut with a "click."

* * *

At the meat counter in the grocery store on her way home, Abby had a sudden idea. Purposefully, she pulled her phone from her purse and dialed his number.

"Chicken or fish?" she asked when Carter answered.

"Changed your mind?" His voice had a smug tinge.

"No."

"Wondering about Chicken of the Sea?"

She laughed. "Want to have dinner?"

"You said you hadn't changed your mind."

"I'll cook. At home." Abby idled by a display of bell peppers, choosing the ideal vegetable.

"But you said you were exhausted."

"I said I didn't want to go out."

"Okay."

She located the perfect pepper and bagged it.

"You'll come over in an hour?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Abby moved to the display of lettuce. "Chicken or fish?"

* * *

An hour later, Carter arrived at Abby's apartment, dressed in jeans, casual as he'd promised.

"I come bearing dessert," he announced as he entered.

"Dork," she laughed, taking the ice cream he held and cursing herself for forgetting to prepare a dessert. How had he known she'd forget?

Curious, he sniffed the air. "Mmm, I smell chicken!" He glanced at the counter where salad dressing ingredients surrounded the Cuisinart. "And I detect a lovely vinaigrette."

"Good nose," she smirked. "And what can you smell from the oven?"

"I'd have to open the oven door to get a better whiff." Carter tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair and pushed up his sleeves.

"Anything I can do to help?"

He bumped Abby's arm, disrupting the pot she stirred, then narrowly missed knocking the bottle of olive oil off the counter as he pretended to be offended when she pushed him away.

"I haven't set the table yet," she pursed her lips.

Carter grinned. "Too many cooks in the kitchen?"

"Get outta here."

When they sat down to dinner, Abby complimented his table-setting skills.

"Professional," she said.

Carter ate a few forkfuls, each one accentuated by a "mmm."

"Professional," he said.

"I made it myself."

"No cookbook?"

Sipping her soda water, Abby said, "I wrote the cookbooks."

Carter took another bite.

"Your mother may not have passed down her sewing talents, but she sure taught you to cook well."

Abby swallowed her mouthful. "On her good days."

* * *

In sugar-induced bliss, an hour later they remained at the table, spoons clinking against their ice cream bowls.

"And Andie has yet another new boy-toy," Abby told him with a wry grin.

"A good one?"

"Just as good as Rick and Shawn and Joe Bob and whatever the hell the rest of them were called."

Carter laughed, head back. He'd only met Andie a few times, but stories of her were a great amusement for him. Abby watched him laughing; his reactions were funnier than her stories. She went back to eating her ice cream. When Carter was calm, he ate a few more bites too.

"Abby," he suddenly looked toward her. "I apologize."

She returned his gaze seriously.

"For?"

Watching his eyes, she knew how he would answer; she was not sure she wanted him to continue. He lifted a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his lips and paused, holding it in midair.

"For Kem. And for Africa. For the letter and leaving you." He returned the spoonful to the bowl, uneaten. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

Abby bit her lip, staring at him. Lost as she traced his furrowed brows with her gaze, she was not sure how he expected her to react. To cover the silence, Carter spoke more.

"I've wanted to tell you. But I wasn't sure it'd be appropriate. You might have thought I was trying to get you to kiss me or something."

"And now it's appropriate to come on to me?"

Her response was serious, and she watched him grow flustered, focusing his attention on the hem of the tablecloth, twisting it around his finger.

"I—I only thought," he stammered, and Abby was overwhelmed by his discomfort. Quick and steady, her hands grasped his cheeks. Fingers embedded in the flesh, she pulled his head to hers and, without hesitation, pressed her lips against his, Surprised, both pairs of eyes shot open, then fluttered shut. Mouth on his, Abby was paralyzed, unable to think of the consequences of her action. All she knew was the buzzing in her bones.

A moan echoed about the room as his hands moved to grasp her skull, though she was not sure from who it had escaped.

"John," she heard a whisper, when they separated to inhale. "Abby."

For a long while, they sat still, each cradling the other's head in their hands, mouths connecting twice more. Then they were statues but for their racing hearts, cheeks touching, frozen as they savored the passing moment.

"I have to go now," Carter's whisper blended with the silence.

"What? Why?" her loud voice destroyed the trance. A version of her former, closed-off self returned to berate herself for showing too much disappointment.

"I'm working graveyard." He released himself from her grip and rose, clearing their dishes and gathering his coat.

"Thanks for dinner."

Abby stared at him, stuck to her chair as he prepared to leave.

"Goodnight," he bent to kiss her, this time mouth closed, but still a prickle rattled Abby's spine. Just in time, she rose and walked him to the door.

"'Night, John."

As she stood in her doorway, watching him retreat, Abby swore she saw Mrs. Monagan poke her head into the hall and wink.


	5. Chapter Five

**Title:** Pause!

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Only in my dreams

**Spoilers**: All of season 10.

**Summary:** An old acquaintance arrives in the ER, bringing heartbreak with her.

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the feedback, here's another chapter, longest and angstiest so far. I have no medical background beyond ER, so I appogize if some of this stuff is implausible. Enjoy!

**Chapter Five**

He took his coffee break at his favorite time of day. Dawn, when the street vendors dragged their carts out of hiding and the first crowds of commuters gathered on the El platform. Carter liked to stroll the nearby sidewalks, increasing smells wafting into his nostrils, watching the world awaken around him. Even if this break was seven hours into a twelve hour shift, he always felt refreshed afterward.

"Carter!" He turned to see Susan jogging toward him.

He waved and waited for her to catch up. "You're early."

She grinned, proud of the rare accomplishment.

"Chuck took over baby duties for the day."

"That's right, happy birthday!" Passing the coffee vendor, they stopped and Susan ordered.

"I got it," he said, reaching for his wallet. "It's your birthday."

"Won't feel that way after a few hours in the ER," she accepted the coffee with gratitude.

"Sure, but there's a party at the end of the rainbow."

Susan smiled gleefully. "And that's why I love my birthday."

They strolled back to the hospital, traffic noises and wind the only sounds passing between them. In the Lounge, Susan uncoiled the scarf from her neck.

"So," she asked. "How's Abby?"

"What?" Carter hesitated, then resumed his search for his ID badge.

"You know. How're you and Abby?" She hid her devious smile behind the locker door.

Carter swallowed. "She told you about us?"

Grinning, Susan patted his shoulder as she left the Lounge.

"Nope, you did."

* * *

"Doctor Carter!" a voice called when he emerged from the lounge.

"Morning, Doctor Weaver," he nodded.

"The patient in two is asking for you. She's been in there for six hours, refusing to see anyone else."

She tossed him a chart.

"Hope she behaves."

Doctor Weaver hobbled to the Admit desk and Carter was left staring at the name on the chart he held, breathing a bit too hard.

Pushing the striped curtain aside, he donned exam gloves and read through the chart, delaying his first glance at the patient.

"Mrs. Amsler?" he finally said, voice cracking.

"There you are!" The old woman's wrinkles rose into a smile, then fell into confusion.

"Which one are you?"

He stopped his inspection of her IV drip.

"Ma'am?"

"Bobby or John?" She turned her head to look at him head-on. "You always did look so much alike."

"It's John, Mrs. Amsler." Gently, he prodded her sides, watching for a reaction on her blank face.

"Bobby?" She suddenly spoke.

"Mrs. Amsler?"

"How soon can I leave this place?" The commanding woman he'd known returned to the feeble body he examined.

"I'll have to determine a diagnosis before I know."

He did not turn his gaze from the examination as she rambled.

"I mean to transfer to a better hospital. I told them I absolutely did not want to come to the county hospital. But then I remembered a Carter boy worked here, so I thought I'd drop by. And then they sent in the longest stream of inadequate doctors! Finally I told them I was here for _you_ and you only. I said 'If I see one more quack before Doctor Carter arrives, I am going to—'"

Carter nodded for the twentieth time.

"I'm going to send you up for some x-rays."

Giving the orders to the nurse, he left quickly, before Mrs. Amsler could continue.

* * *

Eight patients later, Carter approached the Admit desk on which Susan and Abby leaned, signing stacks of paper.

"So?" he heard Susan ask.

"So nothing."

A moment passed. Both women shuffled their papers.

"So?"

Carter breezed by, on his way to the patient board.

"So then Doctor Lewis backed down," he said.

Susan laughed. "How cute, he defends you."

Abby did not look up. "He defended me before last week too," she said, exasperated.

"Oh! Which day last week?"

Abby groaned.

Turning to rescue her from her too-nosy friend, Carter was interrupted by a shout. Chuny rushed toward him from an exam room.

"Your LOL is coding."

"Amsler? But I just sent her up to—"

"I'm getting a crash cart," Chuny called over her shoulder before dashing back the way she had come. Carter, paralyzed, was roused by a nudge.

"Go on," Susan urged, and, shaking himself into doctor mode, he went.

* * *

Shuddering, he stepped into the sterile room. Dark had fallen outside, and now the only light source was fluorescent and industrial. He'd been ill at ease in hospitals for as long as he could remember.

"Is that you, Doctor Carter?" a feeble voice called.

"You're awake," he fluffed a pillow behind the ailing woman's head.

"I was asleep?" she asked.

Sitting on the stool beside her bed, he laid the chart he'd been holding by her feet.

"Mrs. Amsler," Carter looked into her face as he'd been trained to do. "I'm afraid your condition's more serious than we'd anticipated."

"Oh?"

A frail hand fluttered to her mouth, taking IV lines with it.

"The impact from the fall fractured your hip in such a way that caused a series of blood clots to form." The word "form" was like a cough, expelling the lump from his throat. "One already caused you to go into cardiac arrest."

"Take them out then!" she suggested, as though he'd not thought of the obvious solution.

"It's not so simple," Carter stood. He had a sudden urge to be out of this conversation, of this room; stronger than the suffocating dread he'd felt moments before.

Glancing at the monitor by which he now stood, and not a Mrs. Amlser's determined face, he told her, "I'm calling a surgeon to discuss your options with you."

"Okay, Bobby, send him in."

Leaping at the chance for the fresh oxygen that loomed outside the room, Carter leaned into the hallway.

"Doctor Corday?"

He half-listened to the discussion with the surgeon, hearing only the most shocking bits of dialogue.

"I can't just _die_," Mrs. Amsler exclaimed, appalled at the notion. When Doctor Corday assured her that yes, she might do just that, Carter excused himself.

* * *

"She's having the surgery," Doctor Corday said as she stepped into the hall outside Mrs. Amsler's door.

"But—"

"I know. I agreed to perform the surgery."

"And she knows the impossibility—"

"Some people are stubborn as the tides."

Carter watched as Mrs. Amsler was wheeled toward the elevators. Then he selected another chart. There was no use in anxiously loitering.

Two hours later, Abby called him out of the Suture Room where he was stitching the finger of a tiny girl.

"Doctor Corday is looking for you."

Without a word, he walked to the gurney on which the surgeon leaned, waiting. Thankfully, Abby followed.

"How is she?" he asked, and Doctor Corday rose upright, resting a hand on his shoulder. Carter stared into her frown.

"Oh." He looked at the wall instead of at the woman before him.

Clearing his throat, Carter tried to seem unaffected. "But she's alive?"

Doctor Corday shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

A silent second passed.

"We knew it was a risky operation. Too many vessels in her hip ruptured and then—" He looked into her eyes, willing her not to continue.

"If there's anything I can do," she offered in lieu of the explanation. Carter nodded.

He stared at the wall for half a minute after she'd left until Abby guided him to the Lounge.

* * *

As he paced about the smaller space, staring at more walls, each decorated differently but structurally identical, he felt Abby's stare on his back. A few times he swiveled to watch her perched on the arm of the sofa, and his mouth opened and closed as he searched for words. He returned his focus to the walls. No thought passed through his mind but a minor one that would not go away.

In a swift motion, Carter snatched the phone and began to dial. He slammed the tiny number buttons against their beds, many numbers, for this was long distance. On the sixth digit he noticed the phone wobbling in his trembling fist; on the seventh he muttered, "Damn it." On the eighth, he gasped, not knowing what else to do. On the ninth digit, he felt a warm hand cover his own, urging him to lay the phone back in its cradle.

Carter resisted. "I'm calling my mother."

"Not yet."

She leaned against the table beside him. Abby must have thought he was crazy. She knew he would never seek his mother's comfort. Abby did not know who Mrs. Amsler had been. He heard himself sigh, and noticed a soothing hand caress his bicep. Relaxing, he allowed himself to concentrate on her touch and only her touch. Aloe to his burn.

"Who was she?" Abby asked, looking at him with her peripheral vision. Her hand slid down his arm to clasp his, stroking his fingers.

"A quick-tempered aristocrat." He coughed a mirthless laugh; Abby was silent.

Carter rose and walked about, carrying on more wordless conversations with walls before settling onto the couch. Expectantly, Abby's eyes were fixed on him.

"She was a friend of my mother's," he finally said. "They were sorority sisters." Abby nodded.

"I never liked her much." Pausing, he watched Abby, who seemed to be deciding whether to come to him.

"I was supposed to be the son she never had." His voice had a shuddering quality.

He moved back into the couch cushions, inviting Abby to join him. She sat on the opposite side of the seat, not touching him, and he pushed down the urge to cry.

"How was that?"

Carter swallowed. "When she remembered, she'd take me on outings." He laughed bitterly. "I hated all of them."

At last, Abby reached for his arm, pulling him so that the back of his head was against her neck, her arms around him.

"She thought I was Bobby today."

He felt Abby kiss his hair, her hand sifting through the strands. Slow, like gelatin, a single tear made its way across his cheek.

Sitting upright to peer at his face, Abby caught the droplet with her index finger.

"She wasn't well," she said. Carter's eyes closed for minutes to trap the tears he had no worthy reason to shed.

"She was exactly as old as my mother."

His chest was compressed, closer to the woman who held him. "They used to joke they'd probably have the same death day too."

In a smooth motion, Abby's mouth was on his, captivating him with her tenderness.

"They won't."

* * *

Susan's party seemed like an afterthought that day, though Carter insisted it shouldn't be. After all, he'd admitted, before her death he had not thought of Stella Amsler in months. He knew Abby was unconvinced.

They arrived at the Martin/Lewis home bearing gifts and genuine smiles.

"Carter and Abby!" Susan greeted them with a shout, pouring news of their coupling into the ER gossip mill. Their genuine smiles were replaced by fake ones. Handing their coats to Susan, they rushed to the _hors d'oeuvre_ table, stuffing their mouths to dodge prying questions.

At dinner, the conversation turned to movies and rumors until it was interrupted by a wail. Baby Davy's foot had landed in a platter of squash as he was passed from guest to guest; conversation turned to Davy.

"I've gotta get reading that book!" Susan told Abby as she walked her to the door two hours later.

"Sooner you learn to knit, the better for me," Abby smiled. Susan's mouth opened to object, and Abby added, "Scarves are much easier than baby sweaters, I hear."

"And thanks to you too, weirdo," Susan patted Carter's shoulder. He'd given her a shoe horn, monogrammed of course; she always complained of ill-fitting shoes. Awkwardly, Susan held her arms to him in a crooked hug. He looked for permission to Abby, who smiled, amused.

"You'll be fine," Susan whispered.

"Happy birthday," he whispered back, releasing her.

In the car, Carter breathed a wavering sigh. Delicately, Abby's hand stroked the tiny hairs on his jaw.

"I'll call my mother when we get home," he told her. She planted a tiny kiss where her hand had been.

"Good idea."

Tired, mourning, and peaceful, Carter started the engine. Driving through the dark streets, he watched the world slip into slumber around him.


	6. Chapter Six

**Title:** Pause!

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Only in my dreams

**Spoilers**: All of season 10.

**Summary:** Abby's encounters with dreams, the eighties, and, of course, her conscience.

**Author's Note: **This chapter has been sitting on my desk for days—I'm not sure how much I like it. Look for a better one next time, I hope. Thanks for all of the Ch. 5 reviews.

**Chapter Six**

A black-clad man materialized in a fiery doorway, and immediately she ran. Feet pounding against asphalt in time to her thumping pulse, sweat droplets pooled on her upper lip. Transfixed, she watched her shoes smacking the street: right then left; up then down. With a quick glance forward her adrenaline spiked—she was not running away from the figure, but toward him.

Terrified, she could not stop herself, and at once she knew it was not the man she feared but the lamp he embraced in the crook of his left arm. Pink and orange spirals of fear crept into her vision. The lamp, she foresaw, would inflict agony. Deftly, she knotted a rope around the base of the lamp. The lamp became a wrist and the rope was too tight. She frantically tugged to loosen it, to no avail. She looked into his face to apologize and was green. And he was John.

"I'm sorry!" she wanted to scream. "The noodle's too much." But her mouth was immobile.

He was laughing, flickering between green and orange.

"Smile a while," he said.

Abby flinched, the movement rupturing her sleeping state. She released a sigh and opened her eyes. Staring at the ceiling, guilt descended upon her, though she knew the feeling was not reasonable in this dimension.

With a smile, then a frown, she sighed again. How logical the sequence had seemed—how logical dreams always were. Emitting a final sigh, Abby rousted herself from the bed linens. She needed air.

* * *

On the stoop, she met another figure, much to her surprise.

"Mrs. Monagan!" Abby exclaimed, voice piercing the frozen night. "It's three in the morning!"

The woman pulled her parka closer about her shoulders, huddling against the biting mist.

"I could say the same to you."

Abby stamped her feet to ward off the numbness she already sensed approaching.

"Have you been out long?" she asked.

Mrs. Monagan released a harsh laugh. "Longer than I can stand."

Inside her coat, Abby's fingers rubbed against each other, though the friction did little to balance the air temperature.

"I needed air," she said, in attempt to explain the odd encounter.

Mrs. Monagan offered no such explanation.

"Why?"

Abby looked to the street then back to her neighbor.

"I had a dream." She was aware of the childishness of the excuse. "I was killing someone," she added, to increase her maturity.

Her neighbor smiled. "Tell him."

A disbelieving scoff fell from Abby's lips.

"What, that I murdered him?" She laughed at the absurdity.

Wobbling with a final shiver, Mrs. Monagan turned to the building.

"I had a fight with Maury."

* * *

"Here's your painkiller prescription, Mr. Guerrero." She signed the note with a flourish. "The nurse will be by soon to give you instructions for cleaning the wound."

Abby tossed her exam gloves into the receptacle with a certain amount of finality. If she were lucky, the man had been her last patient of the day.

"Susan!" she called, jogging down the hall to catch the doctor's attention. "Doctor Lewis!"

"Abby." Susan hesitated just short of entering the Suture Room.

Abby handed her a small stack of charts.

"Would you sign off on these?"

"Sure." Susan thrust the chart she'd been holding into Abby's emptied arms.

"Oh, no," Abby choked. "No, sorry, I've got plans."

"Really." Susan was incredulous. "Don't you know that 'plan' is not in the intern's vocabulary?"

Abby's eyes lolled to the left.

"Wait." Her eyes darted forward. "I'll tell you the details of my plans while you sign off on those," she smiled, enticingly.

Susan smiled, taking back the chart she'd moments before forced Abby to take.

"Deal."

* * *

Outside, Abby was pleased to discover she had a suitor. She smiled at him, careful not to smile too wide.

"You came back."

Carter rose from the bench on which he'd waited. "What makes you think I ever left?"

She watched him dust the ice from his coat.

"Something about the wet hair under that cap."

He cocked his head toward her, allowing his aroma to waft into her nose.

"I reek of shampoo?"

"Onions."

Abby felt her gloved hand become surrounded in his, and she no longer wanted to impeded the grin that loomed.

"So where to?" He held open the door to the parking garage.

"I told Susan Navy Pier. Mentioned overcoming your childhood fear of merry-go-rounds."

With a sharp laugh, Carter unlocked the Jeep.

"I dominated the merry-go-round."

When her hand slipped from his to step into the car, Abby was alarmed to discover the degree to which she did not want to let go; she was struck by the urge to kiss his fading grin. Shocked, she allowed him to step away. Spontaneous kisses had not yet been scratched from the list of actions considered taboo.

"What?" Carter asked when he reappeared at the driver's side door. Abby swiped the uneasy disappointment from her face with a quick smile.

"Pizza?"

* * *

Somehow, Carter happened upon the only pizza parlor in Chicago that had an Eighties theme.

At first, the laughed at the place, making cutting remarks at the neon decor and the throng of thirty-something patrons clearly enjoying the retreat to their pasts.

"Why didn't we notice all the legwarmers _before_ we ordered?"

Carter leaned close to shout over the clang of the one-hit wonder.

"I did."

"What?" Abby shouted back, horrified. "Why didn't you say something?"

The waitress arrived, presenting paper plates of pizza as if they were gem-encrusted goblets.

"We were hungry. I didn't think you minded."

Abby glared at him, mostly to keep the demented crowd out of her path of vision.

"I hated this stuff when it was _happening_."

To emphasize her repulsion, each time a new song blared Abby set her pizza down to groan.

"Not _this_ one."

Smiling innocently, Carter hummed along.

* * *

"Look at them," Abby gestured, unable to suspend her amazement. "How did we end up here?"

"Wanna dance?"

Abby's laugh was a bark. "No way."

For several minutes they watched the strange dancers in silence.

"I'll go dance by myself."

Smirking, Abby shoved him toward the herd.

"Go ahead."

A minute later, he returned, flushed.

"You actually danced?" she set down her soda.

"Should'a seen me." Abby felt hot fingers press into her chin and a faintly sweaty pair of lips descended upon hers.

"Come on, " he breathed. For a moment, she thought she might concede.

He tugged her to the dance floor.

"No," Abby broke away with a smirk.

"Who are you dancing with?" she asked, the second time he returned.

Carter took a bite of lukewarm pizza. "A bunch of girls I met."

"Girls?"

He cleared his throat. "Voluptuous women."

Gulping a swig of soda, Carter returned to the dancing mob. Soon, Abby joined him. "Just to watch," she was prepared to say, but Carter asked for no explanation. As they whirled and bounced, Abby reluctantly at first, he drew her to him until finally they twirled as one.

"This isn't how you dance to this music." Carter's lips pressed into her neck.

* * *

Abby still saw visions of spinning Guess jeans as she sat at her kitchen table trying too hard to relax. Carter's presence in her apartment was unnervingly comfortable.

"Did you ever hear what happened to that girl who needed a pancreatotomy?" His voice drifted from the couch as he muted the television.

"Yeah, she's..." Distracted by a noise from the apartment next-door, Abby hesitated. "...fine."

"Did you hear that?"

Abby listened diligently.

"The Monagan's have been fighting." More muffled shouts leaked through the wall, followed by silence.

"I saw Mrs. Monagan outside at three in the morning. All she said was they'd fought." Curious, Abby looked away from the medical journal she held, to the wall, straining to hear.

"But they're so..." Carter scratched his head. "...old."

Flashing a smile, Abby returned to her reading, aware that Carter's stare had not left her form.

"What were _you_ doing outside at three in the morning?"

Abby closed the journal. "I had a dream."

Carter was laughing. Abby was too; it felt good to entertain him.

"Wait. So you killed me?"

"It was an accident!" she insisted. "I meant to kill the lamp."

"Wonder what it means."

Abby continued laughing though she'd wondered the same, in not such a joking matter.

* * *

"Did you have fun?" he asked, embracing her now.

"You mean despite the awful venue?" Her hands were tight around his neck, though their lips had not met. Until—

It was his hair that she liked so much, she decided. And his ears. Especially his mouth, and the way she sipped fire when it touched her like it did now.

"We should talk about this."

For once her head and voice made a direct connection. Carter's thumbs caressed the hem of her shirt.

"Later," he said, mouth full of her throat. His fingers brushed the skin beneath the hem too.

"This _is _later." Flushed and unsure, she pulled away.

"A bit more later, then." His teeth grazed her jawbone.

"Carter." It was an angry, moaning whine. His lips engulfed her earlobe.

"Why interrupt this now?" Abby felt the words breathed into her temple.

"John."

She mustered a real voice. A business voice. He took her seriously and released her, leaning his weight back, onto the arm of the sofa.

"'Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.'"

Abby swore he smirked as he spoke the words.

"What the hell?"

She stepped back.

"Guillamme Apollinare."

"You're an Italian scholar, huh?" For a moment, she had to smile. Carter dared not smile in return.

Adjusting her rumpled shirt so nothing tempting was apparent, Abby sat on the coffee table opposite him. Before she could grasp it, a firm, rational monologue escaped her mind. She was supposed to be telling him important things. Boundaries and promises were to be forged.

Instead she could but face him, dumb little smile still evident. In time, he smiled back, looking every bit bewildered. Abby erupted into laughter; unlaughing, Carter smiled. Gradually, Abby's features slipped back into a smirk.

"Pause, did you say?"

"But you were right. We need to—"

Two hands reached for his waist.

"Where were we?"

"Abby," he protested into her mouth. "Role reversal," she thought, and pulled him closer instead of laughing.

Marveling at how they had become precious metals, melting together, she guided him to the bedroom.

"'Like a virgin, touched for the very first time,'" she hummed against his jaw until she could no longer concentrate on anything but his fluid motions.

"'Like a virgin, when your heart beats next to mine."


End file.
